


Griffon Feathers

by rhetoricalrogue



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, One Shot Collection, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-08 01:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17971901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhetoricalrogue/pseuds/rhetoricalrogue
Summary: A collection of stories that fit either before, during, or after The Griffon and the Raven





	1. domestic prompts: cooking together

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going through my Tumblr archive and decided to place all the Ravena/Blackwall fic I've written since [The Griffon and the Raven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4678190/chapters/10678070) into one place. I'm going in chronological order as to when they were written, so events may be all over the place. Most of these are standalone one-shots.

Eyes still closed, Thom yawned and reached out, fully expecting to place his hands on Ravena and tug her closer to him. Instead, his palm smoothed over the empty place beside him, the sheets still somewhat warm from the body that must have only recently vacated the bed.

“Ravena?” Opening his eyes, he blinked at the sunlight that filtered through the curtains. He and Ravena had taken a two month vacation after the fall of Corypheus and tying up a few major loose ends, leaving Skyhold for the peacefulness of Tantervale. Ravena’s cousin hadn’t been there, but he had left word with the neighbor that he’d been called to Ostwick to deliver a speech on one of his papers, leaving the house all to themselves.

It was a quiet, domestic sort of pace. The days melted together languidly, mornings were spent over breakfast and plans for the day, most of those plans quickly being abandoned as playfully affectionate glances became heated and clothes were quickly shed, the two of them spending the day wrapped up in the other’s arms instead of doing what they originally planned. Other days were spent exploring the town, wandering through the marketplace hand in hand. While he still wasn’t quite ready to step away from the name Blackwall completely, he had found that introducing himself here to the people who knew Ravena before she had become the Herald by his given name was like a breath of fresh air, Thom slipping past his lips easier and easier with each new person. It was a quiet sort of life, one that he could see the two of them settling into with ease.

Rolling out of bed, he grabbed a pair of trousers and padded barefoot down the hall, following the smell of onions and garlic cooking. He leaned against the kitchen doorway: Ravena was at the hearth, dressed in nothing but his shirt. She had rolled the sleeves up past her elbows, the hem of the tunic brushing mid-thigh on her. She was stirring the diced onions in a cast iron skillet, dividing her attention between them and the large cookbook she had propped up on the counter nearby.

“Smells good,” he said, grinning when she jumped. “What are you making?” He pushed off the wall and came up behind her, his hands warm on her waist.

She turned her head up to him, pressing up on her toes to give him a slow morning kiss. “Eggs.” She gestured with the wooden spoon at the page she was studying. “We have the house, and while the cat that adopted us last week isn’t _quite_ a dog, I figured that I’d better widen my cooking skills past scrambled eggs since this Mark of mine doesn’t do any sort of cooking.”

He smiled against her cheek and pressed a kiss there. “So, you’ve decided to tackle omelets?” He saw the basket of button mushrooms sitting on the counter and the narrow wedge of cheese she had cut off the wheel they had bought the other day. Moving aside, he picked up the kitchen knife and began slicing the mushrooms. He added them to her skillet and then went back to the cheese. A little rummaging in the neatly organized drawers had him coming up with a grater, and he only shaved off as much as he eyeballed they would need for the two of them.

“Well…” she bit her lip and stirred the mushrooms. “I tried making the plain one, just to get the technique down.”

“And what happened?”

“The cat’s eating my failed experiment outside in the garden.”

He grinned, but then outright laughed when he saw the slightly burnt, rubbery mess sitting outside. Not even the birds that often nested in the trees out there would touch it. “Everyone has to start somewhere,” he said.

Ravena sighed. “I’m afraid that you’re not getting a very proficient chef as a wife,” she told him, spooning out the cooked ingredients and placing them on a nearby plate.

“I don’t want a proficient chef as a wife,” he said, tipping her face up so he could kiss her. “I want _you_.”

“At least there are places to go eat so we don’t starve.”

He arched his eyebrow at her. “And who says that the woman has to do all the cooking? You should know by now that I can hold my own in the kitchen. In fact, I can boast about making some pretty decent omelets. I _may_ even be willing to teach you.”

Ravena laughed. “Well, Master Omelet Maker, teach on.” She stood aside while he took over, smirking as he rubbed his hands together. He cracked three eggs into a bowl and added a pinch of salt and pepper, whisking them together with a fork until everything was mixed.

“That pan is probably just the right temperature. Care to add a little butter to it and rub it around?”

“Like this?”

“Exactly.” Adding the beaten eggs, he stood back. “You don’t happen to have a spatula on hand, do you, Love?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked that before adding the eggs?” she asked, going through the drawers until she found what he had asked for. “The eggs are going to burn.”

“No they won’t. See how I put the pan on the grate furthest away from the fire? You want a slightly low temperature.” He took the metal spatula from her and stared.

“But the book says to stir them around.”

“Sometimes you need to step away from the strict confines of your books, Ravena. Stir them around and you get scrambled eggs. Patience.” The pan was a little hotter than he normally would have liked, but he poked at the sides of the eggs with the spatula. “See how they’ve set up? The edges are going fine, but the middle is still soupy. Just spread it around gently.”

“How do you make these things seem so simple?” Ravena asked, watching as he confidently turned the pan around when he realized that one side was cooking just a little slower than the other.

“Experience. This is just like everything else. You didn’t start out slaying dragons with ease, now did you?”

Ravena leaned against his arm. “No, I guess not.”

“Then treat it as such. Now, see how everything looks set? Sprinkle some of the cheese right down the middle, won’t you?” He followed behind her with half of the onion, garlic and mushroom mixture. “Now, we flip. Do it in threes, first this side, then the other.” Thom reached around her for one of the plates she had waiting and slid the omelet onto it. “Voila, my lady. Breakfast awaits.” He was going to crack another three eggs into the bowl to make the second omelet, but she stopped him.

“I’d like to try, on my own, if you please.”

“Very well.” He placed the plate on the small round table next to the kitchen window and came back, leaning against the counter as he watched her cook. It was endearing how focused she was, methodically cracking eggs and taking equal pinches of salt and pepper, whisking until she was satisfied. She bit her lip in concentration as she spread butter into the pan and then poured the mixture. Her bare toes tapped on the floor and he smiled as he could tell she was fighting the urge to fuss, watching as the eggs cooked by themselves. He took the time to admire her, from her bed-tousled hair she had tied up in a loose ponytail to the curve of her shoulder that peeked out from under the wide neckline of his shirt. Thom frowned, seeing the red marks that his stubble had left on her skin. He rubbed his chin, feeling the sharp rasp against his palm. It had been a while since he had shaved his beard, and while he liked the freedom not hiding behind it had given him, he was also reminded every day about how quickly his facial hair grew. Ravena never complained, but he had seen traces of stubble burn on her body in other places besides her shoulder.

He scratched at his chin again. Ravena did favor him with a beard. Perhaps a neatly trimmed one would be a fair compromise.

“Your breakfast, milord.” He’d been so involved with staring at her that he hadn’t noticed that his omelet had finished cooking. Both of them went to the table and he dug in.

“And you said that you couldn’t cook eggs,” he teased. “These are good.”

She blushed, looking at him from under her eyelashes. “I had a good teacher.”

“And I had a good sous-chef. Just you wait, I’ll have you making up a decent soufflé before you know it. Perhaps between the two of us, we can figure out this whole cooking thing and not have to resort to eating out at the tavern so often.”

“I’d like that.” Under the table, she slid her toes against his calf. “And maybe when we get back to Skyhold, we could continue? I wouldn’t want to get rusty, after all.”

Thom smiled, heart flipping in his chest as he saw her return the gesture. “I’d like that, my lady.” Reaching across the table, he captured her hand in his, his thumb running across her knuckles. Things were still hectic in Skyhold, the Inquisition still very much in demand, but he wanted more than anything to carve out moments just like this for them both, where it was just Thom and Ravena instead of Blackwall and the Inquisitor. 

Yet for right now, he pushed aside thoughts of the Inquisition and of Skyhold, preferring to enjoy the lazy morning that was unfolding in front of them.


	2. caught in the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in The Griffon and the Raven storyline sometime before the Winter Palace events, but after Adamant. I borrowed the grove that the Inquisitor can take Cassandra to if they choose to romance her, because more people need to take advantage of the romantical sights right outside Skyhold’s doors. :)

“So, in retrospect,” Blackwall began, pulling at the low branches of the tree he and Ravena were taking shelter under. “This probably wasn’t the greatest of ideas.”

“No, I think it was a wonderful idea,” she replied, bending down as she fumbled with the contents of the wicker basket they had brought with them. “The weather just didn’t want to cooperate.” She had been ass-deep in reports with a dull headache constantly throbbing at the back of her head when Blackwall had found her up in her room. He’d taken her by the hand and led her out of Skyhold, only promising that he had a surprise waiting for her. She’d been charmed by the little grove he had shown her, and even more so by the picnic spread he had laid out.

_“You’ve been working too hard,”_ he had told her, guiding her to sit down atop the checkered blanket he had spread out before pouring her a glass of wine. _“And we haven’t spent nearly enough time together these past few days.”_

They had eaten their way through a selection of cheeses and meats and were just starting up on the stuffed dates when the first rumble of thunder could be heard. By that time, the two of them were more interested in hand-feeding the other little bites of food and interspacing them with kisses that they didn’t notice the way the sky had darkened or the slight pickup in wind. The first fat raindrops began to fall as Blackwall had teased her with a honey-drizzled fig, the cold splash of water bringing them out of their far too-involved haze. After that, it seemed as if the sky had opened up, rain coming down in sheets. The two of them only had enough time to shove everything haphazardly back into the basket and dart towards the shelter of some trees before they were soaked to the bone.

“Well, on the positive side,” Blackwall began, helping Ravena untangle the blanket. Their breath puffed out in front of them and he wrapped the blanket around her, rubbing up and down her arms to try to get her warm. “We’re spending time together.”

She had to laugh, turning her face against the side of his throat. “And we still have dessert.”

“Eating sticky figs standing up under a tree wasn’t quite how I planned for the meal to go.”

“Oh? And how _did_ you plan this to go, Thom?”

He rubbed at a bit of honey that had gotten spilled on the blanket and swiped this thumb across her lip. She hummed in pleasure as he took his time to kiss the sticky sweetness away. “I’d begin there, for starters, but then I’d work my way lower.” He tugged at her lip with his teeth. “As if your mouth wasn’t sweet enough.”

“Damn the rain,” she murmured, winding her fingers through his hair. She none too gently shoved him against the trunk of the tree and moved closer until their bodies were plastered together. “But since we’re already soaked to the skin…”

He shivered as her nails lightly scratched at his scalp in a way that shouldn’t have felt that good. “Yes, my lady?”

“What say we make a break for it and run back to Skyhold? We can finish dessert in front of my fireplace.”

Blackwall skimmed his hands down her back and grinned. “Now _that_ ,” he said, retrieving the basket as they prepared to leave their impromptu shelter. “Is a fantastic idea.“


	3. a kiss on the neck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is set in that two-year gap between the game and Trespasser (mostly because I couldn’t wait until then to get these two hitched.)

Even without turning around, Ravena knew who had entered her bedroom. “You aren’t supposed to be here.” The accusation was said with a faint smile as she continued to apply cosmetics to her eyelids. Maker knew that if she didn’t, then her mother would do so with a far heavier hand.

“The last I checked, this was _my_ bedroom as well,” Thom replied, coming up behind her.

Her smile grew wider. “And the last time _I_ checked, it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride before their wedding.” She stood and couldn’t help admiring the suit he wore, the dark material bringing out the color of his eyes and making his hair gleam. 

“See something you like?” he teased, stepping closer and putting his hands on her waist. His fingers played with the ties to her robe.

She let her eyes sweep over him, admiring the cut of his outfit and the way it defined the strength in his shoulders and arms. “Oh, very much. But you’re going to have to leave. My mother and sisters-in-laws are going to kill you.”

Thom laughed. “Forget your family, _Josephine_ will outright murder me if I mess with her plans.” Ravena’s ambassador had seen to nearly every detail of this day, making sure that everything went perfectly. If Ravena didn’t know any better, she’d think that Josephine even had absolute control of the weather, because the day had risen bright and beautiful without a cloud in the sky.

“Not to mention Cassandra. You know how wide a romantic streak she has. She’d do anything to make sure that traditions were upheld.”

Thom grinned. “Well, then it’s a good thing that we’re already wedded, my lady.” His hands moved up from her waist to her shoulders, easily drawing her to him for an embrace. “This is merely a formality.”

“I hate that we have to do this all over again merely for show,” she admitted, her voice muffled by his shoulder. “It isn’t our fault that half of Southern Thedas couldn’t fit inside the family chapel at Ostwick.” Several months ago they’d had an extremely private wedding with only family and friends in attendance. Ravena’s father had teared up as he had given her away, her brothers had acted as Thom’s groomsmen, and money had been exchanged at the reception when Varric orchestrated a betting pool to see who out of the Inquisition’s Inner Circle would break down at the sight of Ravena and Thom exchanging vows first.

Ravena had won twenty sovereigns when the Iron Bull loudly blew his nose during the _speak now or forever hold your peace_ portion of the ceremony. It made up for the money Thom had lost when he wagered that the unflappable Madame de Fer would break first. 

Thom ran his hand down her back. “We had our day,” he told her. “Let them have theirs. It isn’t every day that the Inquisitor gets married.”

She sighed. “You’re right.” She lifted her hand and traced his cheek, her mouth turning down mournfully. “I still can’t believe you shaved. The beard was coming back nicely.”

He arched his eyebrow. “I may be a great many things, but I’m not a fool. When your mother-in-law insists that the beard goes because it’s still in the patchy stage, the beard goes.” He was forever grateful to Ravena’s family. He had been anxious when she first brought him to them, but his fears had been put to rest when they embraced him as one of their own right from the start. He fit in well with the rest of her brothers, settling in between her oldest brother René and her middle brother Robert in age. It took a while for her mother to come around, but she finally did, and Ravena’s father nearly instantly warmed to him with several shared interests.

Ravena pouted, but she rose on her toes and briefly kissed him. “Oh, I know how stubborn Mother can get. Believe me, I have almost over forty years of experience.” She gave him another kiss. “Which is why you should make yourself scarce before she comes back to help me into my dress. I swear, between her and everyone else with any notion of fashion, they’re trying to drown me in tulle.”

“And I’m positive that you’ll look radiant in whatever they wrangle you into.” He ran his thumb across her cheek. “You’d look beautiful in a potato sack.”

She laughed. “You’re saying that because you’re biased.”

“Well, yes. But the potato sack would show off your legs spectacularly. I’m rather fond of your legs.” He laughed with her as she playfully pushed him aside. “But I do have a reason for being here. I’ve a wedding gift for you.”

“Thom, I thought we said no…” she stopped when he pulled out a necklace from his suit pocket. “It’s beautiful.” The silverite chain held a cameo pendant made up of a pale blue stone overlaid with delicate songbirds perched on a blooming tree branch carved out of ivory.

“I saw it in the shop and thought of you,” he admitted. “And it works for the _something blue_ portion of your wedding gear that Josephine was fretting about.”

She ran her fingers over the raised birds. “I love it. But I didn’t get you a wedding gift.”

He brushed his lips across her forehead. “You’re gift enough. The fact that you’d marry me not once, but _twice_ is a gift in itself.”

“I’d marry you a thousand times over, then a thousand times more. I love you, Thom Rainier.”

He pressed his lips to hers. “And your love is a treasure worth more to me than any material item in all of Thedas. I love you too, Ravena Rainier.” Giving her one last kiss, he deliberately stepped aside. “Now turn around, before I upset the entire female portion of our family and have my wicked way with my wife before the ceremony.”

Her heart warmed at the way he so casually mentioned _their_ family. “And here you’ve been showing great restraint,” she commented. “You haven’t once asked what I’m wearing underneath this robe.”

He fumbled with the necklace’s catch. “I’m leaving something to look forward to, my lady.”

She looked at his reflection in the vanity mirror. “Well, since you’re not asking for a preview, I’ll not give you one. Yet I _will_ say that there’s a great deal of flimsy lace held up with ribbons. Just the barest tug of teeth would surely unravel everything.”

Thom groaned appreciatively. “Wicked woman,” he muttered, catching the lobe of her ear with his teeth. He watched in the mirror as she watched him with lowered eyelids, the smirk on her lips driving him to distraction. Taking a steadying breath, he collected himself and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of her neck. “I should go.” Stepping away, he couldn’t stop the pleased smile from stretching his lips as he saw she had worn the wooden comb he had carved for her birthday proudly displayed in the mass of braids that someone had fashioned her hair into.

She didn’t turn around, but she met his eyes in the mirror again. “I’ll see you downstairs, Thom.”

“Nothing could keep me away.” Heading down the stairs, he paused, his head barely visible from the landing. “And Ravena?”

“Yes?”

“Keep that full-length mirror out for later. I’ve plans involving it.”

There was a rustle of silk as she turned in her chair to face him. “Do you now?”

He smirked, and even from the length of the room, he could see the way she shivered. “ _Several_ plans. I’m willing to see what the barest tug of my teeth on those ribbons of yours will _really_ do.”

The audible sound of her breath catching was enough to tide him over as he made his way down to the gardens.


	4. vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trespasser events

When she first rounded the corner and saw Thom at the end of the alley throwing knives at the straw target, she couldn’t believe her eyes. She knew that a copy of the letter she had sent out to several Inquisition outposts had been received, but she had no idea that Thom would arrive at the Winter Palace in time. Ravena’s breath caught in her suddenly tight throat and she moved towards him, the constant, nagging pain in her left hand completely forgotten as he turned towards her. There was an ease about him, as if a load had been taken off his shoulders in the months that he had been gone. His beard had finally grown back, trimmed for appearance’s sake and with a few added streaks of silver close to his mouth to match the streaks that had grown in his hair. His eyes lit up at the sight of her and the dagger he had been contemplating fell from slack fingers, clattering to the ground unnoticed. If asked, she wouldn’t have been able to say who moved faster, but she was suddenly swept up in his arms and swung off her feet, her mouth pressed to his and her hands tangled in his hair.

She was grateful that she had already been shown to the room she was staying in, else she was certain that they would have barged into any room and caused some sort of diplomatic incident that Josephine would have had to smooth over. The two of them stumbled over the threshold, clothes scattering over the floor in their haste as soon as the door was kicked shut and the lock thrown. Ravena hissed in discomfort when his fingers twined with hers and he held on a bit too tightly, but it was easy to ignore the uncomfortable muscle aches when his body was between her thighs and he was moving inside of her after six agonizingly long months apart. Afterwards, the tingling pins and needles sensation in her fingers and the chronic ache at her wrist was nothing compared to being in his arms again, their legs tangled together as they caught the other up on what they had been doing while they had been apart.

And then came the investigation and the trip into the Crossroads. At first, it was easy to disguise her pain, seeing that the worst of it only flared every time they encountered a strange artifact and dealing with waves of darkspawn and Qunari didn’t leave time for anyone to notice her pained grimaces as the nagging ache grew into something far worse. Yet after a while, Thom eventually caught on to the casual flicks of her wrist she would do more and more often, almost like she was trying to shake off the pain as if it were something that was stubbornly stuck to her fingertips.

“How long has this gone on?” he asked her once they had a private moment to themselves. Ravena sighed and looked away from him, but he gently caught her chin in his fingers and nudged her to look him in the eye. “Please let me in, Ravena. No lies between us, remember?”

She bit her lip and took a breath. “It started getting worse roughly five months ago. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to worry you.”

He frowned, his fingers sliding from her chin to trace across her jaw and cup her cheek. “If I had known, I would have come back, tried to help you through the worst of it.”

“And that’s exactly why I didn’t say anything. You _needed_ to go out and find the last of your men, Thom. I couldn’t take that from you.” 

“And _you_ needed your husband to be here for you and I wasn’t. Tell me truthfully: how bad is it?”

Ravena flexed her hand and stared at the green glow that emitted from her palm. Thom watched as she took off her glove and showed him her hand. The raised scars that the orb had left on her hand had cracked and split, the light pulsing from the fissures eerily illuminating her veins underneath her skin. “It wasn’t this bad at first, but then the sharp pains that only hit every so often became more frequent. It’s only within these few days that the pain has gotten worse, like someone is driving a hot poker through my hand. This,” she gestured to the cracks in her palm, “happened right after we came across that artifact in the library.”

Carefully, almost as if he were afraid that he would break something, Thom picked up her hand and cradled it in both of his, the warmth from his fingers sinking down into her bones. She sighed in relief as his thumb made comforting circles against her wrist, her body leaning towards his until her head rested on his shoulder.

The relief didn’t last long. The Anchor crackled and spat, much like it had that first day she had received it and Ravena reflexively yanked her hand out of Thom’s grasp to protectively curl her arm against her chest as she doubled over in pain. She didn’t cry out, but Thom could see the way her eyes were tightly shut and how her breath came out in sharp hisses between clenched teeth.

Not knowing what to do, he gathered her in his arms and held her, his hands smoothing over her arms and his lips at her forehead. “If I could take your pain away and bear it myself, I would do it in an instant,” he murmured, his hand stroking her left forearm as low as he dared to go before he inadvertently caused more harm by touching sensitive skin.

“I know,” she gasped out, turning her head so she could press her face against the crook of his neck. “It’s spreading. When the Anchor flares at its worst, the pain goes up my arm nearly to the shoulder. Whatever’s happening, it’s happening quickly.” She looked up at him and his heart ached at the expression on her face. “I’m scared, Thom.”

He reached out and wiped away a tear that had slipped down her cheek. “So am I,” he confessed. It was one thing to be frightened for her, but it was entirely another thing to hear the woman he loved more than life itself tell him that she was afraid. She was such a rock to so many people and he felt completely powerless to help her. Having the feeling of his hands being tied with things beyond his understanding or ability to fix was torture. What if this spread past her arm? What if the pain couldn’t be treated? What if he lost her? 

Ravena gave a hollow laugh. “So, for better or for worse, huh?” she quipped, hissing as her fingers spasmed violently. “I know we’ve been married for nearly two years, but I’m willing to say the statute of limitations is still valid if you want an annulment.”

He frowned at her. “The vows said in sickness and in health, did they not? You can’t get rid of me that easily.” He knew what she was doing. Void take it, he would have done the same to her if their roles were reversed. She had the same fears as he did, she knew just as he did that the odds of her surviving this grew smaller and smaller as the rift in her palm widened. She was trying to push him away to spare him from the heartache of watching her die, she…

“I love you Thom, but if I…”

He stopped her with a kiss that was probably a little too rough, a little too desperate and full of teeth clicking together as he tried to draw out her fear like poison from a wound and fill the space it had lived in with all the love he had for her. “ _If_ the worst case scenario happens,” he told her gruffly, his hands framing her face and his fingers tangling in her hair. “I would rather be a widower than to have never had you in my life in the first place. But that’s a very big if we’re talking about.”

“I guess you’re stuck with me then.” Her expression didn’t change, but her tone was a bit lighter.

“Afraid so, my lady.” He kissed her brow. “And you’re stuck with me.”

Her shoulders relaxed as the worst of the pain subsided down to an almost bearable throb. “Well, what a hardship,” she joked, sagging against his chest.

He grinned, the constant fear and worry still there, but shoved to the side for her sake. He might not be able to be the shield he wanted to be and spare her from this pain, but he _could_ be a source of strength she could depend on. “Should have thought about that before you married me,” he joked back. He twined the fingers of his left hand with those on her right and brought their joined hands close to his chest. “But I will tell you one thing: I’m not giving up on finding a cure for this. I love you and I won’t lose you without a fight.”

“Nor will I.” Ravena took a deep breath, her fingers squeezing his. “Now, shall we round up Dorian and the Iron Bull? I do believe there’s a Qunari invasion that we need to take care of.”

With a final kiss across her knuckles, Thom let go of her hand to drape his arm across her shoulders, tugging her close to his side. “I’m with you.”

No matter what happened, he was with her.


	5. dress me up

The lurid cursing and frustrated growl coming from behind the changing screen made Blackwall look up from where he was sitting and buffing out his boots. “Problems?”

Sera stomped out from behind the screen and glared at the ornate floor length mirror nearby, her fingers fussing at the sash looped under the epaulette on her left shoulder. “Stupid friggin’ thing keeps getting tangled. I _hate_ it.”

He tugged his boots on and went over to her. “I know how you feel. I hate it too.”

“Then why are we standing here, all dressed up like…like…”

He curled his lip up in a sneer. “Someone’s dolls they only take out on fancy occasions?”

“Right! I say screw the nobles and let us wear our usual gear. Who gives two shits what we look like, so long as the job is done?”

Blackwall put his hands on her shoulders. Applying the barest amount of pressure, he got her to turn around. “Here.” He frowned in confusion when he saw just how much of a tangled mess Sera had gotten her sash in. “I may hate having to be dressed up, but Ravena needs us.”

Sera rolled her eyes and let out a resigned sigh. “Yeah, I know, and the only reason I’m doing this is because she’s a friend. Just don’t see why I had to get my hair cut. Gonna take _forever_ to get it back to the way it should be.” Now that she mentioned it, Blackwall could tell that her hair was trimmed just the slightest amount so that everything was even instead of looking like she had taken a dagger or dull set of shears to it herself.

“I see Josephine got to you as well.” His hand rubbed at his freshly trimmed beard. It was still longer than what their diplomatic advisor would have liked, but short enough to be on the verge of uncomfortable for him. He knew she meant well by wanting everyone representing the Inquisition to look their best, but he had grown his beard to that length for a _reason_. It irked him that he had to be primped and preened to some high standard when all he really intended on doing was slinking in the shadows with a glass of whatever ridiculously expensive wine they were going to be serving while keeping his ear to the ground to listen for any rumors that might help Ravena.

Sera sniffed. “You went the extra mile though. You smell like you’ve been rolling around in _peaches_ all afternoon.”

Blackwall raised an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know that they put orange scented oil in the bathwater.” He would have made a quip that he had been sharing the tub with Ravena at the time and they had managed a quick tumble amid silken sheets sometime in between meetings with her advisors, but he didn’t. He was dreading going back into Orlesian nobility for reasons that went far beyond trying to save the Empress’ life that night and he was ashamed at how his feelings had bled into their lovemaking. He hadn’t been gentle and she hadn’t complained, but he felt as if he had used her to silence the ghosts that were all but screaming in his head. He also knew that if he voiced that opinion out loud, she would vehemently deny it, telling him that she loved him and was there to help him in any way she could. She had held him after, her hands gentle as they ran in comforting strokes down his back, her legs still twined around his body as he gathered her close in his arms and rested the side of his face against her breast to listen to the reassuring sound of her heart. He hadn’t felt at peace, but at least that brief moment with her had left him feeling better than he had since their arrival in the Winter Palace.

Maker, he didn’t deserve her. 

He finished straightening Sera’s uniform for her and went to his own suit, fingers moving over the familiar-yet-not-familiar buttons and clasps. He felt naked in nothing but a blue silk sash covering his chest instead of his customary plate. He would have liked it if Josephine had picked something for him that had a little bit of armor, no matter how ceremonial and decorative, but that suggestion had been nixed. Too aggressive, she had deemed it. Just as well. If the Commander of their forces had to make do with nothing but red broadcloth and blue silk, so would he.

“You do clean up nice though,” Sera told him, reaching up to buff out a spot on one of the buttons at his throat. “Must be a Warden thing, gettin’ all spiffied out.”

“Military,” he gruffly replied. “Brief stint back when I was young and foolish and had my head up my own arse most of the time. Most dress uniforms are similar in fashion.” He tugged his gloves on, his face set in a stern frown as nerves jangled through his system.

Sera looked at him for a while before plopping at the foot of his bed. “Well, whatever happened before, I like the You that you are now a lot better than I would have liked the You that you used to be.” She grinned. “Probably would have shot you in the butt with an arrow, or put bees in your bedroll to set you straight.”

Blackwall couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled out of his mouth. “Ah, Sera,” he said. “What I wouldn’t have given for someone like you back then. I probably wouldn’t have appreciated it at the time, but I…” he trailed off. “Thanks.”

She stood up again and went over to him. “Any time.” Giving his shortened beard an affectionate tug, she crossed her eyes just to make him smile. “Now, if I have to behave myself tonight, no Broody Beard act from you, got it? I didn’t promise Ravena I wouldn’t draw naked ladies on the walls for you just to stand around and be all…”

“Broody?” he supplied.

“Yes!” She gave him a pat on the cheek before walking to the door. “Just you wait, we’ll get this over and done with then its drinks in the tavern where nobody minds what we wear or if we’re drinkin’ with our pinkies out or not.” She was about to open the door and see herself out when Blackwall called out to her.

“For what it’s worth, I liked your hair a lot better how it was too.” He paused, giving her a conspiratorial grin. “And Ravena may have said no to graffiti, but she never said anything about not stealing silverware.”

Sera cackled. “See, that’s what I like best about you, Beardy. You’re a real pal.”

He grinned, feeling the anxiety that had his gut in knots lessen just a bit. “Any time, Fuzzhead.”


	6. prompt: being drenched while wearing white

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating moves from a PG to a PG-13 for just this chapter. Domestic fluff, pre-Trespasser. Originally written in May 2016.

“Ravena?” Thom stepped inside their home and wiped his sweaty brow. He’d forgotten about Tantervale’s summers, and he was pleased that the air inside was cool.

“In here!”

Leaving his dirty boots in the entranceway, Thom padded down the hall until he could pinpoint which room Ravena’s humming was coming from. “Well, this is a sight,” he drawled, leaning a forearm against the doorframe of the bathing room, admiring Ravena as she bent over the tub she was filling. His eyes traveled over the long expanse of bare legs before coming up to the hemline of one of his older white shirts. The gentle sway of her breasts told him that she was naked underneath, and his hands itched to touch her.

She slowly straightened, her loose hair swinging over one shoulder as she threw him a coy glance. “A welcome one, I hope,” she replied, setting the bucket down as she walked towards him.

Thom sighed contentedly as she wound her arms over his shoulders and rose up on her tiptoes to press a lingering kiss to his lips. “A welcome sight indeed,” he agreed, hands skimming past her waist to cup her generous behind. She squeaked against his mouth as he settled his thigh between hers, Ravena’s lips curling up into a seductive smile.

“Save that for later, Love,” she murmured, fingers going to his chest to unlace his tunic. “You’ve been working _hard_ all day.” She kissed him again. “Toiling in the fields.” Another kiss. “Getting your hands… _dirty._ ”

Never before had Thom been so grateful of his background as a farmer’s son. “The neighbor’s fields weren’t going to plant themselves,” he said, breaking free only to pull his shirt over his head. He tangled his fingers in Ravena’s hair when she placed biting kisses to his collarbone, palms smoothing down his chest before plucking at the laces of his pants. “Not with…” he swallowed when she cupped him through the cloth, teeth sharp at his shoulder. “Not with the neighbor sick this time of… _fuck, Ravena._ ” Conversation forgotten, he grabbed at her just as his pants dropped down to his knees. It would have been easy to swiftly turn and press her up against the wall, to hitch her up just a little bit higher and love her right there, but she danced out of his reach.

“Ah ah,” she admonished, crooking her finger at him. “Bath first, Thom.”

Grudgingly, Thom stepped out of his pants and went to the tub. Stepping in, he found that the water was at a perfect temperature for the weather: not too hot and yet not ice cold. He sank into the deep tub, noticing that Ravena had only filled it partway. “Thinking of joining me?” he asked, knowing that if she had filled it any further the tub would have overflowed once she stepped in.

“Perhaps,” she agreed, filling another bucket she had been warming at a nearby brazier. She tilted his head back and poured some of the water over him, cupping his eyes. Thom sighed as the scent of soap hit his nose and Ravena’s nails scratched gently over his scalp. Ravena leaned against him to plant an upside down kiss on his lips before running her fingers through the closely trimmed beard he had started to wear.

“Oh no.”

Thom cracked his eyes open at her quiet declaration. “Problems?”

She smirked. “Maybe. Your hair was wet. This shirt is thin.” She moved to his side and Thom could see where one of her breasts had pressed against the side of his head. The material of her shirt had gotten just wet enough that he could see the hazy outline of a rosy nipple.

“Perish the thought.” Grinning at her, he pulled his arm out of the tub and cupped her cheek, deliberately resting his dripping forearm against her breast. “Would be a shame if it got wetter.” He pulled away, eyes dilating when he saw that the damp patch had become nearly transparent.

Ravena laughed, playfully swatting at his chest, splashing water at him. “Oh, you’re horrible,” she said. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

Thom watched as she grabbed a washcloth and soaked it through. She made a great show of lathering up the cloth with soap before deliberately wringing it out across her other breast. 

“I can think of a few ideas,” he told her, surging up in the tub and hauling her in with him. She laughed against his mouth as she straddled his waist.

“Look what you’ve done,” she told him, humor heavily lacing her words. “I’m all wet.”

He rocked his hips against her, earning a pleased gasp and fingers in his hair. “So you are.” He watched hungrily as she sat back, the front of her shirt completely soaked through. She made a move to pull the material off, but he stopped her.

“Leave it,” he rasped, hands guiding her down onto him. “It looks good on you.”


	7. flannel shirts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating still in the PG-13 realm for vague half-naked shenanigans. Written in November 2016.

Wintertime in the mountains could be bone-shatteringly cold, especially when the snows really began to set in. Luckily, it was still autumn, and yet Blackwall was still grateful for the thick panes of glass that separated him from the impressive view out of Ravena’s balcony and the fire that crackled in the massive fireplace to his side.

“Do you think it may snow?” Ravena asked from the little alcove from her bed that she had turned into a dressing area. The changing screen muffled her voice somewhat and the wooden panels painted with scenes of deer peacefully grazing on the edge of a forest hiding her from view.

“Might be too early for that still, but I wouldn’t chance it.” He moved from the closed balcony doors towards the bed, stretching out on the mattress and stacking his hands behind his head. It felt good to finally rest in one place; they’d been on the move for the past two months going from Orlais and back, following leads of rifts being spotted in areas and helping refugees in the Emerald Graves from rogue forces intent on taking the Dales for their own.

Blackwall sighed. The Exalted Plains had been a literal nightmare, corpses popping up out of the ground at every turn. It had taken several days before he could get the stench of burnt bodies out of his mind.

“That was an impressive sigh,” Ravena commented, flinging one of her shirts over the side of the changing screen to be laundered later. “Everything all right?”

“Just tired, Love,” he confessed. “And grateful to have a proper bed at my back.”

She made a hum of agreement as her pants joined the shirt slung over the screen. “A proper bed and a roof overhead that doesn’t leak.”

Blackwall smiled. “What? Didn’t enjoy that little extra surprise in our tent?” The tent that they had been using had been of the same sturdy canvas that all the others the Inquisition employed, but a mouse or some other creature had chewed a small hole in the tent’s roof. It had gone unnoticed until a sudden rain shower in the middle of the night had sent them scurrying for a spare oilcloth, the both of them cursing as they wrung out wet blankets and spent the rest of the night huddled in the corner of the tent that hadn’t gotten soaked through.

She laughed and Blackwall heard the gentle rasp of her brush going through her hair. “I must be showing my age,” she joked. “But spending the night on a thinner than usual bedroll with tree roots jabbing me in the back affected me more than it had several years ago.” There was a quiet clatter as the wood backing of her brush settled against the surface of her vanity. Blackwall enjoyed the little sounds from behind the screen as Ravena went through her evening routine: the soft noise of the lid to the jar of pleasantly scented lotion opening, the barely noticeable sound of her humming some wordless tune under her breath, the soft swish of fabric as she dressed. It was homey, domestic, and after weeks of the sounds of battle and the shrieks of demons ringing in his ears, extremely welcome.

He was half-dozing when she stepped out from behind the screen. He smiled when the bed shifted, her weight causing the mattress to slightly give as she joined him. The sigh she let out as she snuggled close to him, her head on his shoulder and her arm draped across his chest, was the same sense of contentment that he felt.

Blackwall was slightly surprised when his fingers encountered thick material instead of something lighter. Normally, Ravena favored wearing nightwear to bed made of satin or silk. He enjoyed her ample collection of lacy and barely there confections as well: each piece looked like it had been hand-tailored to lovingly settle over her body and the colors she often chose suited her well. 

Yet what she had worn to bed was a bit different than the yellow negligee made out of some thin, barely there fabric that had made rendered him speechless when he saw her standing there, her skin glowing golden in the candlelight and her hair spilling around her like a waterfall of black ink. This, it was baggy and grey and made of a flannel that was oddly familiar…

“Is this my shirt?”

“Hmm?”

“Your nightgown,” he commented, running his hand over her arm. “Is this my shirt? The one that I’ve been missing for a while? The one that you claimed to have no knowledge of its whereabouts?”

He could feel her smiling against his shoulder. “That one?”

“The very one, my lady.”

“Oh, you must be mistaken. You see, this is my _nightgown_. You said so yourself.” Her smile widened and she propped herself up on her elbow so she could look down on him.

Blackwall smiled up at her. “Ah, my mistake then.”

“I will allow you this one mistake, though don’t think I’ll be so lenient in the future.” She gave him her most regal look before her act broke and she began to laugh. “It’s warm and I’m freezing.”

“Looks far better on you than it ever did on me, I’ll give you that.” His eyes wandered over to where the too big neckline gaped, allowing him a glimpse of her shoulder. He followed the dip of her waist down to the curve of her hip and down the line of her thigh to where the shirt’s hem ended barely above her knee. Ravena was no petite woman – she stood taller than most and was only an inch or so shorter than him – to see her almost dwarfed in an article of his clothing made his heart do strange flips in his chest. Reaching out, he slid his hand over her thigh, bringing the hem of the shirt up higher. “Though I think it looks best on the floor.”

“You think so, hm?” she teased, smiling against his mouth when he rose up to kiss her, rolling onto her back and tugging on his shoulders to bring him with her.

“Most definitely, my lady.” His mouth moved down the column of her throat to the slope of her shoulder, his teeth nipping at the skin there. Ravena rewarded him with a gasp and a tug on his hair as she arched her back to press herself closer to him.

“I do hope you know that I stole this shirt fair and square in order to keep myself warm on cold nights such as this.”

“Oh, I think I can figure out a few ways to keep you warm.” Blackwall punctuated his statement with a kiss, balancing himself on one elbow so he could attempt to tug his own shirt off by pulling at the back of his collar. Ravena got the hint and helped him, easing her hands underneath the material and sliding her fingers over his back. He felt his skin break out in gooseflesh at the slightly cool touch, but shivered pleasantly when her nails raked down his back. It wasn’t long before Ravena tugged his shirt over his head and threw it somewhere behind him. He moaned against her mouth as her fingers made quick work of the ties to the loose sleeping pants he usually wore to bed, his hips lifting off the mattress to help her divest him of his clothing. A firm tug of his hands at her bottom had her situated better beneath him, her knees hugging his sides as Ravena used her feet to pull his pants the rest of the way down his legs. He helped her out by kicking them off, the pants joining his shirt somewhere on the bedroom floor.

“That’s one way to get you undressed,” Ravena teased, hands smoothing over the familiar territory of his body and her legs wrapping around his waist. Blackwall bunched up the fabric of the shirt she wore, pleasantly surprised to find that she wasn’t wearing anything else underneath. Rocking up to his elbows, he eased himself into a better position, Ravena eagerly moving with him, her heels pressing against his buttocks to urge him closer.

And that’s when two points of searing cold hit him. “ _Maker’s balls!_ ” he swore, instinctively jerking back and away from the sudden sensation, the shock considerably cooling off his ardor. “Your feet are like _ice!_ ”

Ravena looked up at him apologetically. “I _told_ you I was cold.”

Rearing up to his knees, Blackwall took one of her feet in his hands and rubbed at her toes, hoping to circulate some warmth back in them. “Next time you go stealing my clothing,” he said, switching from one foot to the other, “feel free to swipe a pair of my socks as well.”

She wiggled her toes in his grasp. “The moment’s gone, isn’t it?”

He arched an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t quite say _that._ ” Bending down, Blackwall placed a kiss at the bend of her knee before starting a path upwards. “Just keep your toes away from my arse and we’ll be fine.”

Ravena pulled at Blackwall’s shoulders until he slid up her body. Threading her fingers through his hair, she kissed him, enjoying the way he relaxed into her touch, his body a welcome weight over hers. Without breaking the kiss, she quickly rolled, switching their positions.

“I’ll see what I can do about that,” she promised, straddling his hips.

Blackwall leered up at her, his hands steadying her as she moved over him. His breath caught behind his teeth as he drank in the sight of her, hair wild and body haloed by the light of the fireplace behind her. _I am one lucky bastard,_ he thought, thumbs making idle circles against her waist. “Now,” he drawled, hands pushing the shirt she still wore upwards. “Let’s see what I can do about getting this back.”


End file.
